Beauty and the Beast
by Mademoiselle Obvious
Summary: AU. Basically what the title says. It is the story of beauty and the beast, done Harry Potter style! Yes. SSHP slash!
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and such belongs to J.K. Rowling. Damn her for not taking proper care of the characters!

**A/N:** Oooo, teh new stooory! Yeah..I know. I should be writing _What They Didn't Tell Him, _but..I've kinda hit a wall. Hold tight, mah loyal fans. XD Alriiight. So, it's the Beauty and the Beast story! Woot. I love the story of the beauty and the beast, I think it is the best fairy tale ever, so, this is my tip of the hat to it. Granted..it's..Harry Potter..and...slash..but..ya know..Shut up. Well. I like it. Except for one thing. I wasn't sure whether or not a lord was higher than a baron or what, so..I just kinda made it up...XD

I ... Well.. I might not write more soon. 'Cause..I don't know what I want to do. The plotline of beauty and the beast is sort of a halfsies between Disneys' version and Robin McKinleys. I luff her. Curses for not being allowed to write fanfic for her. TT Ok.TO THE STORY.

oOo

Prelude

Once upon a time there was a beautiful and prosperous kingdom. The crops were bountiful and the animals were healthy, as were the people. Children were kind and courteous to the elderly, and the people of the kingdom were content with life. The king and queen of the realm were well-loved by their loyal subjects, and all was well with the world.

Well…There was one thing. The king and queen were childless. More than anything, the royals wanted an heir to their throne. Both prayed fervently, as did the people, but with no luck.

Until one day, after many requests to the gods, their wish was finally granted.

A son was born.

XxX

While most young princes played with the children of nobles—or even with the children of the peasants—this prince was an outcast. He was hated from the youngest age by his peers for his large nose and greasy hair.

So the young prince retreated into himself and books. When most boys his age were playing in the sun, bronzing their skin and strengthening their limbs, the prince was skulking inside, reading about the Dark Arts and learning how to make potions.

His parents, the king and queen, grew tired of their sneering, sullen son and began to wish for an accident. For they couldn't leave the kingdom in the hands of this glowering, ugly young boy. The country was already growing angry and impatient with the prince. They had wished for a golden young man, with blue eyes full of laughter and blonde curls bouncing in the breeze. Instead they had received this pale wraith of a child; with his pitch-colored hair and eyes, he was almost demonic looking.

The boy had only two friends, two people whom he could say he loved. And they were not his parents. No, the boy disliked the cold, indifferent, shining people who claimed—reluctantly—to be of his bloodline. Instead, he received affection from his caretakers: his cheery old butler Dumbledore and his elegant nurse McGonagall. These two were the only ones in the kingdom who could spend more than a few minutes with him without turning away sourly, glaring at the dour boy.

XxX

A few months after the prince's sixteenth birthday, a young lord from a neighboring country was out in the country of our kingdom when he heard of the severe young prince. The lord, who had also been somewhat of a pariah in his youth, felt some sympathy towards the prince, and so decided to befriend the young man; and if, perhaps, when the prince succeeded his father, the lord would receive a proper reward, well, that was just the way the bones fell, now wasn't it?

So the lord—whom we shall now reveal as Lord Voldemort of Hangleton—traveled to the prosperous kingdom. Here he insinuated himself into the king and queen's trust; making them believe that he was a kind noble who wanted to help their "problem," as the rulers had come to call their son. Of course, the rulers were at first skeptical, but Lord Voldemort slithered his way into their minds.

The prince was charmed by this raven-haired beauty, who had everything that his people wanted. He quickly fell prey to the lord's ploy of friendship, and soon was a little more than a lackey to Voldemort. He would run about, catering to his "friend's" every whim, just to get a smile, a small touch, any sign that told him he was needed—that he was loved.

And so the prince was slowly changed from a dark, brooding young man to a shadow of a bright thing—a follower of a man much greater than he. The prince followed Voldemort like Helena trailed after Demetrius.

XxX

On the eve of the prince's eighteenth birthday, the day that the kingdom would fall to him, there was a knock on the door of the palace. This in itself was not unusual, in fact, it was quite commonplace, especially when one took into account the fact that a ball was being held that night. Although the ball was in honor of the prince's approaching coronation, he was nowhere in sight. He _was_ at the ball—hiding in the shadows near a corner of the room, watching the dancers twirl colorfully on the floor with envious eyes, staring with even more envy at the cluster of girls surrounding Lord Voldemort. Though, _who_ he was jealous of was anyone's guess. The lord in question was quite happy with his current position. All the girls flirting with him was a reasonably good way to boost his ego.

But suddenly, as everyone was in the middle of having a jolly good time, a knock resounded through-out the room. The party-goers turned in confusion to each other. Everyone of importance was already there. Who could be knocking at the door?

Voldemort raised a finger and flicked it imperiously at the door. The room was silent as everyone waited to see who was behind the entrance. Even the prince stepped out of the shadows. The door swung open.

A dark figure stood in the entry-way. Lighting flashed in the sky dramatically. The form moved forward, revealing the tall, elegant form of one Baron L. Malfoy. "Well, well, _well_." he stated, striking a pose at the top of the staircase, which lead down to the dance-floor. "Having a party? How lovely. But..You didn't invite _me_?"

Silence reigned. Finally, as all the guests had turned to look at him, Lord Voldemort felt he had to speak up. "Lucius, how charming for you to stop in. I was afraid you weren't coming!"

"My dear Tom," replied Lucius, with just a touch of maliciousness, "I am afraid I have no idea what you're on about."

"Oh, Malfoy," sneered Voldemort, "You mean to tell me that you didn't get an invitation? I was _sure_ one was sent out! In fact, I oversaw it myself! Why, my most trusted friend, the prince, took it to you himself! Didn't you?" he cried, turning to look at the bewildered prince.

"What?" asked the prince, staring back at his hero in confusion, "You didn't give me any letters! You must be mistaken!"

"Tut tut, prince! Leaving poor Baron Malfoy without his invitation!" shrieked Voldemort, turning accusatory eyes upon the poor prince.

"But-" started the prince.

"Aaaaah," sneered the baron, "The little princeling was the problem, eh? Well, no one has any need of him, so we might as well.._punish _him."

"Oh, indeed!" agreed Voldemort, who was just glad that Lucius had believed his lie.

Lucius snapped his fingers briskly, and a beautifully dressed young man stepped through the door. "You rang, father?"

"Yes, Draco. Now," he exclaimed, turning towards the apprehensive crowd, "This, is my son. As some of you may know, he has been gifted by the gods with certain powers. Draco, m'lad, this boy-" here he pointed spectacularly at the prince, "has wronged me! Teach him his _place_!"

Draco smiled cruelly. "I have just the thing, father. Since, dear prince, you already look and act like such a beast, I believe it would be fitting for me to finish the process, don't you?" After this short speech, he murmured a few words which are impossible to translate to English.

The prince was struck down, and many thought he had been killed. "Rise, O Beast!" cried Draco.

Slowly, the thing which had once been the prince raised its head, and then, gradually, stood up on its hind legs. A few of the women gasped and fainted with terror before peeking through their lashes at the hideous thing.

"Ah Draco, marvelous job!" said Lucius before stroking his son's hair.

Suddenly the reality of the situation came crashing down, and the party-goers screamed and shrilled and made a generally loud noise before rushing out of the doors. Emitting a single malicious laugh, Voldemort turned and joined father and son at the entrance-way before leaving the palace.

And so, the prince, who had once been called Severus, was now the Beast.

oOo

**A/N:** Ye gods. I realize how lame that ending is. And yesss...there could be some hints of Sevvy/Voldy slash..and..perhaps...Lucius/Draco-cest..? I dunno..I thought.the stroking of the hair was kinda...cesty..


	2. Chapter I

**Disclaimer:** Alas, neither Harry Potter, nor the story of the beauty and the beast belong to me. Nay, all I have are a few batman pencils and some battered pairs of Converse.

**A/N:** Holy crap-in-a-box! Updaaaaate. /spazspazspaz/ I _know_, it's fricking crazy. And yes, the resolution is already broken. Butbutbut! Dramatic flair was needed! Needed, I tell you. And also, I reread the prelude, and goshdangit, I _should_ have switched Voldemort with Lucius. /cusscusscuss/ But yes. So. /darts away/

oOo

Harry turned away from the rosebushes as a shrill voice shrieked out his name. "Har_ry_! Come here immediately or you won't get any supper! Lazing about when you should be finishing your chores! Disgraceful!"

The brunette young man sighed as he answered his aunt: "Coming Aunt Petunia!" He fingered a burgundy rose as he lowered his voice, turning back to his earlier pastime, which had been staring into the dark forest. "Oh, how I wish I could get away from this place. I would give anything, go anywhere, if only it was away from here." He winced and looked down at his finger, which had been jabbed by a thorn.

A single crimson droplet fell away onto the grass.

XxX

After stuffing his finger into his mouth and dashing towards the cottage, Harry was surprised when his aunt grabbed him forcefully and dragged him up to the attic, to the little room occupied by Harry.

"Clean yourself up; quickly, quickly! Here-" she stuffed Harry's only nice clothes into his hand, "Put these on! And, for Merlin's sake, _do_ something with your hair!"

Petunia disappeared out the door, leaving a bewildered Harry alone. He silently washed himself as quickly as possible and threw on the fancy garments before grabbing a spare piece of ribbon and binding his hair into a ponytail.

Jumping down the stairs two at a time, he was even more surprised when, at the door, he saw the ruling lord of their province, Lucius Malfoy, and his son, Draco.

Petunia turned towards him, a painfully fake smile plastered on her face; a similar look on his uncle and cousin's.

"Harry dear, how lovely for you to join us. I believe you know Lord Malfoy and his son." Petunia's voice was sickeningly sweet, and Harry shuddered in nervous anticipation of the news about to come.

Nodding at the lord, Harry came down the final stairs and stood near the stairwell, loitering anxiously.

"Well, don't just stand there looking pretty! Come _here_, boy!" hissed Vernon.

Harry made his way to his relations, beginning to get an even bigger panicky feeling in his stomach at the way both Malfoys looked at him.

Vernon pushed Harry in front of him, so that he was facing the Malfoys, disconcertingly close; near enough to smell the revoltingly saccharine perfume one of them was wearing.

"Lord Malfoy here has been asking about you, Harry." started Vernon.

Harry suddenly had a startlingly clear moment, and, within the minute, he knew what his uncle would say next, knew what the Malfoys were doing here.

"The lord saw you once, in the village, and has been interested over you ever since. He has offered us a fine price, and there was no polite way we could refuse him. You don't need to pack up your things; Lord Malfoy will provide for your every need…as long as _you_ provide for his." Vernon said, quite maliciously.

Before Harry could even dream of protesting, he was whisked away, put into a decadent carriage, and being taken away from the only home he had even known.

Curiously, the only thing he could think of as they left was his wish that morning, and the trickle of blood which had followed.

oOo

**More A/N:** For a note, because I am fricking awesome. You may have noticed that Malfoy Sr. changed from a baron to a lord. That is because when poor Sevvy was changed to a beast, Voldie took over his place as the king-dude, and then he made Lucius a lord. And...the Dursleys are mean. Poor Harry, being sold. Heh heh heh...


	3. Chapter II

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, _or_ the story of the beauty and the beast. /cusscusscuss/

**A/N:** Wootage. Another chapter. Hardehar. Yes, I'm so happy. I'm sure you are too. Aaaaand, it's _over_ 1,000 words! Hah! Oh yeeeeah, leet word skillz. I'm sorry about that 'z', I couldn't help it.

* * *

Harry was gazing out of his window, staring into the dark forest, wondering what lay in those forbidden woods, when there was a knock at his door.

He sighed and got off the window seat, making his way through the opulent room before reaching the thick wooden door.

There was no question about who would be at the door.

After leaving the Dursley's cottage two weeks previous, Harry had only seen Lucius Malfoy.

Draco had been sent off on a mission of some sort, and Harry's meals always appeared mysteriously; he was lucky if he could catch a view of a gardener out the window.

Nonetheless, Harry opened the door cautiously.

It was, of course, Lucius.

The door swung open as Harry meekly gestured for Lucius to come in. Lucius swept in, bringing with him the cloying scent of daisies.

"Harry, dear, how lovely to see you again. May I come in and take a seat? Why thank you; how kind! Yes, tea please."

Harry sighed; they went through this every time Lucius visited: He would speak above any response Harry might make and expect him to respond to his every whim.

Trying not to drag his feet, Harry prepared the tea and set a cup in front of Lucius before taking his own seat. Then he waited. Lucius always started talking, regardless of whether or not Harry provided him with any pleasantries.

And indeed, within a few sips of his tea, Lucius was beginning a one-sided conversation; he loved nothing more than the sounds of his own dulcet voice.

"So Harry, it has been a fortnight since you have entered my care—how do you fare?"

"I am fine, my lord."

"Really? You are not wanting for anything? Exotic deserts? Lavish clothes? An enticing environment?"

"Really, my lord, I need nothing."

"Not even more companionship? I know your days must be long, lonely as they are."

"Perhaps, my lord…I would have no qualms if you were to allow me to leave my suite. It is a bit bigger than I am used to-"Indeed, his rooms were almost as big as the Dursley's cottage had been, "And I would enjoy being permitted to roam the grounds."

Lucius set down his cup of tea and leaned back in his chair, adopting an intellectual pose. "Hm…Yes, I see nothing wrong with that. However…" Lucius got up from his seat and came to stand beside Harry.

Harry got a sick feeling in the very pit of his stomach.

"Perhaps…In return you could do me a favor..?"

Harry had no illusions as to what such a favor would entail. He felt very small with Lucius looming over him. He wondered what to do. The Dursley's had been paid for him to do the kinds of things that Lucius wanted. But, he just couldn't stand the touch of the handsome man; his hands were eerily cold and at the same time clammy.

"What…what _kind_ of favor?" he asked, hopeful that his intuition was wrong.

Lucius leered and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, stroking him possessively.

Ah yes, _that_ kind of favor.

Harry stood up, and Lucius' slick hand slid off his shoulder. He went to stand near the window, staring out at the forest yet again. "I'm sorry, my lord. I have no misapprehensions about the kindness you have shown, nor-" he waved away Lucius' interruption, "Nor why I am here. But I'm afraid I cannot do those kinds of things for you."

Lucius adopted a shocked look. "Why, Harry, I'm not sure you understand the magnitude of the situation. Your family was paid in full for your loss…By doing so they agreed that my decisions were best for you. All of them. And right now, it is my decision that you do as I say."

Harry shook his head, albeit nervously; he had made his decision, and he was sticking to it. Besides, Harry couldn't imagine voluntarily touching the dank man; for some reason he knew that, after enough of the touches, the man's sliminess would rub off onto him.

Lucius immediately turned cold and hard. "Well then, Harry, I'm afraid we are at a crossroads. I don't want to have to force you, but if you do not behave in a fashion I find to my liking, I will be quite displeased. And I am not a man used to being unsatisfied."

"I _am_ sorry, my lord." Harry thought fast, trying to find a way to get rid of Lucius—for, although he received no company other than the wealthy blonde, he found that he preferred solitude. "Perhaps..perhaps if you come back tomorrow, I will be more willing."

Lucius stared hard at Harry. "Perhaps. As I said before, I would be much more pleased if you were willing, but I will not hesitate to take what a want by force. I will leave you, for now."

He turned and stamped towards the door—for all his aristocratic training, Lucius had never been very graceful on his feet—but turned his icy blue gaze on Harry before leaving. "I will be back tomorrow evening." With that he whirled—rather clumsily—and left Harry's rooms.

Harry gave the door a last glance before turning back to the window. It was after dark, and the forest was just an ominous black shape, so Harry found no solace there. He turned to the bed and, after slipping out of his finery and into sleeping attire, drew down his sheets and tried to sleep.

Alas, he found no comfort in the sleek silks, and instead found himself tossing and turning, trying to decide what to do.

He couldn't give in to Lucius.

He couldn't keep Lucius away; already the man was growing foul-tempered.

He couldn't leave.

Wait. Why _couldn't_ he leave? There was nothing keeping him here. Harry sat up in bed. Of course. He would escape. He couldn't, obviously, return to his relatives; they would be only too happy to return him to the Malfoys, and besides, he would avoid becoming the Dursley's slave-boy at all costs.

But then, where?

….The forest? It was the perfect answer. He could travel through the forest—although he didn't know how large it was, it had to end eventually, didn't it, and after the forest there would surely be another town.

And another thing, the people of the village avoided the forest like the plague. No one ever hunted in it, and no children ever ran away into it. So he would be in no danger of running into someone who knew him.

Now he just needed to get away.

He should leave immediately; the sooner the better.

So, with that thought, Harry threw off his bedclothes and poured through his wardrobe, looking for something suitable to wear. Finally, at the back, he found a pair of his old breeches, and a thick wool shirt.

He dressed as quickly as possible before pulling on a pair of boots and sneaking to the door.

Trying it, Harry was disappointed to find that it was locked. But a locked door was no match for him. The Dursley's had locked him into the attic countless times; he knew how to pick a lock.

Quickly and quietly, Harry snuck out of his rooms and towards the front of the manor. Luckily, he had gotten a vague idea of the layout of the mansion when he was being brought to his rooms, and he stole towards the wing he was sure housed the kitchen.

After a few backtracks and dead ends, Harry was relieved to find the kitchen. Thanking whatever gods there were for his continued luck—there was no one in the kitchens—he grabbed water and provisions, tied them up in an animal skin, and stole towards a door. He was surprised when the door he opened led outside. This was even better than he could have imagined. The kitchen was almost directly under his rooms, and the forest lay dead ahead.

Sighing in relief, Harry sprinted across the grass towards the edge of the forest.

Once he got there, he turned back to look at the manor a final time. It stood cold and foreboding.

With a small smile, Harry turned back to the welcoming evergreen boughs and walked into the forest.

* * *

**A/N:** Sweet. I just noticed that line tool. /cough/ Haha. Lucius amuses me. Lecherous Lucius. Oh ho, an alliteration/gasp/ I learned something in school! ...Amazing. Actually, I learned that like two years ago. How do I still remember it..? 


	4. Chapter III

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me. However, the crazy forest does. Yay, I own something!

**A/N:** So, yes. A new chapter. I'm sorry, but it's kind of short. _However_, I have already written the next chapter, and that should be out tonight. Sweet, eh? And that one's longer too. And scarier. o-o; At least, it scared me while I was writing it.

But back to this chapter. It's odd. And, because I like to take up space, I shall reply to your reviews. Er, well...Not all of them. Only the ones that I feel like replying too. If you say something that doesn't need replying to, then I won't. .o;

Kaaera: You review a lot. That is neat. I haven't had physics yet. It sounds hard and I am frightened of it.

Strega: It was actually supposed to be a cookie-cutter Beauty and the Beast story. XD But this plot just kind of attacked me. I think it's neato that you adore me for it, though. I adore you for reviewing. /makes adoring eyes at you/

TexasRose: You know, you people _never_ say what you're commenting about. What do you mean I changed the story around? Explain!

And now that that's over...

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he had been in the forest, but he felt confident in guessing that at least two hours had passed. But he wasn't even sure of that, because he couldn't see the sun to determine the time of day.

The overhanging branches—which had seemed so kind and welcoming when he first stepped into the forest—now appeared to leer at him, the twigs breaking off to cling to his clothes and hair, and large, oddly malevolent thorns kept catching on his skin, and staying lodged there, too.

He'd tried pulling them out, but there were so many, and more kept appearing. And he was so _tired_.

But how could that be? Two hours was not a long time to walk—even if it was spent wading through a sea of pine needles—and especially not for someone as accustomed to manual labor as Harry was.

Harry shook off his weariness and trudged on, stumbling as he tried to walk faster, then jog; he felt unaccountably claustrophobic, as though the very trees were pushing in on him.

Jerking to a stop, Harry was surprised when he burst through the foliage and into a meadow. It was quite a nice meadow, with grass and flowers and even a little stream. Harry sighed with relief when he looked up and encountered pure blue skies and bright sunshine.

He sat down next to the stream, running his fingers through the cool, crystal-spun water before closing his eyes and listening to the birdsong.

That was when he knew something was wrong.

There was no birdsong. And, now that he was thinking about it, he realized he hadn't seen any animals, at all. Not even a gnat.

And he was still so exhausted. Harry looked down at his arm, covered in scratches and thorns. The thorns seemed to _exude_ evil. Harry pulled his hand out of the water to pick out the thorns.

But his hand wouldn't come.

Harry stared down at the stream. What had but a few moments ago been a gurgling, giggling little stream was now a slick, oil-filled Styx, ready to drag him down to Hell.

Glancing up at the sky, Harry was unsurprised to realize that the glorious blue sky was now replaced by a roiling, raging black sky, filled with blood-red clouds.

Glaring back down at the stream, Harry gave a tremendous pull and wrenched his fingers free.

Stumbling to his feet, Harry gasped as he rushed into the dark arms of the waiting forest.

* * *

**A/N:** Rawr. That chapter sucks. I think the next one is better though. It has scary trees in it. Yeah, weird, eh? Anywho...I've got to do math homework and write a sonnet--and I suck at poety, so that should be fun!--so I shall update later. Laaaaaater. 


	5. Chapter IV

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or any related characters. However...the forest, and Them..._they_ belong to me.

**A/N:** Haha. How's about that? Two chapters out in one night. Oh yeah, that's some skill. /preens/

I finished this chapter up instead of writing a sonnet, because sonnets are hard. I think I'm going to write a Harry Potter related one. /waxes nerd/

I don't know how easily you readers scare, and it was late when I wrote this, but while I was writing this last night, I was scaring the crap out of myself. /wimp/ So yeah...

* * *

It was dark. It had been dark before Harry entered the meadow, but now the forest's darkness was all encompassing.

He wished for light.

Harry kept moving. Somehow he _knew_ the forest was after him, would take him if it could; but if he didn't stop, didn't stop for anything, then he would be okay. He had to be.

Now Harry knew why no one went into the forest. It was not a nice, fairy-tale-full-of-big-eyed-friendly-talking-animals-forest. Oh no, this was the kind of forest that lured away young men and swallowed them up whole.

Harry was dizzy and thirsty and oh-so-tired, but he knew if he let down his guard for an instant, he would be lost.

But he stayed away from any water.

After the stream in the meadow, he was _not_ going to put any forest-water into his mouth. And sometime during his venture through the woods, he had lost his animal-skin full of food and water.

He was at the mercy of the trees. The trees that were getting closer. The trees which were not as green and welcoming as they had been. The trees, who were hiding something.

Harry knew that if he was very, very lucky, he would never find out what they were hiding.

So very tired.

Harry wanted to just lie down and go to sleep; close his eyes forever. But he couldn't do that. The trees…

The thorns had stopped pricking him. But they were still on him, in him. Harry _felt _them.

But they wouldn't come out when he tried to pick them from his skin. In fact, they seemed to be going _deeper_. If he didn't get them out soon, he was afraid they would go inside his skin. Harry shivered at the thought.

Harry knew that it was the thorns making him so tired. Knew that if they went _inside_ him, he wouldn't be able to lift a finger; would be left unable to fight…To fight whatever came out of the trees.

Harry really hoped the thorns would come out soon.

The pine needles—or were they pine? The trees looked too _wrong_ to be pines—looked so soft, so inviting. But he couldn't give in. He would get through this, as he had gotten through so many other things.

But the trees…

_Don't worry about the trees; just normal trees, they can't hurt you. Look how pretty they are. Don't you want to go lean your back against their trunks? Just a short rest. What harm could it do? You've got nowhere else to be._

Harry knew the voice was wrong. Knew the trees _would_ do him harm.

The trees, which were now speaking to him. Whispering in his ear.

Harry walked faster. And wished for a light.

And then wished for darkness.

There was a light, but he wanted it to go away, so very badly.

The trees…

The light was coming out of the trees.

Or, more precisely, the light was coming from the things coming out of the trees.

Harry's luck had run out.

He ran.

Tripping over fallen twigs and dodging strangely still branches, Harry managed to catch sight of Them out of the corner of his eyes. They were pale, and still incorporeal, but Harry was sure they would turn tangible soon enough. And he did _not_ want to be around when that happened.

Terror spurred Harry on, pushing him to speeds greater than he would have thought himself capable of. But the ghostly figures were becoming not-so-ghostly, and they were noticing him.

And that was very bad.

Harry didn't know where he was going, and the surge of adrenaline was dying, and the thorns were sucking at his power; almost inside him now.

And he could hear Them now.

The trees rushed past him, terribly silent now. But that was the problem, everything was so quiet.

Only the _whishk_ as Them passed through the air.

Harry was so very scared. He thought that now Lucius was not looking bad, no, not at all. But it was too late for thoughts like that.

Somewhere safe…

And he could feel Them breath on his neck.

It was cold, cold as the grave, cold as a spider's kiss; and it smelled, peculiarly, of honey.

Harry's steps were getting slower, and his feet were getting heavier. And he just wanted to stop.

But he could feel the feathery touch of Them fingers. Raining on his back and legs.

With a last burst of energy, Harry leaped.

As he was in the air, he saw ahead of him a gate. And behind that gate, a castle.

There were lights in the windows, and it looked so bright and cheery.

And Harry knew that he would make it. Would reach the gate, outrun Them, get to the castle and be safe. And he would get a warm glass of chocolate, and perhaps a bit of bread, and he would fall into a cozy bed, and everything would be all right.

But then…he fell.

Instead of landing on his feet and sprinting to freedom, he fell.

And the hard dirt greeted him, and the scent of honey filled his senses, and he felt a thorn finally prick it's way inside his skin.

And then the gauzy fingers of Them touched his head, caressed his hair, and he knew no more.

* * *

**A/N:** /scowls because she thought it was a longer chapter than it is/ So, what think you! Was it scaaaaary? ...I didn't think so. Well, I tried.

Also..I'm not good at making up cool names, so unless any of you has a good suggestion for creepy names, the Them will continue to be called Them.

And yes, I know that I should have put They instead of Them at some points. I thought about it, and I prefer to call them /heh../ Them. ...Shut up.


	6. Chapter V

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it, and I can't think of anything witty to go here.

**A/N:** Right. I think this is kind of a lame chapter, because I wrote most of it in the last fifteen minutes, but oh well. It's done, and yeah.

I hate allergies. If there is one thing that will be in hell, it is them. /scowls and sneezes at you/

Also, credit for the name of Them goes to Speed Reader, whoever that may be. Thank you very much. It's a neat name, so I took it. Muahaha. But you get this special shout-out, so good for you.

* * *

Severus was spending the evening as he usually did: pacing. It was not the normal sort of pacing either. Of course, nothing about Severus was normal. But that's beside the point.

While most people pace in a room, going wall to wall, Severus power-paced. He stalked from one side of his castle to the other, menacing the wall tapestries and carpets with his talon-like claws. This did not, surprisingly, do wonders to the castle's décor.

But this was no normal castle.

Draco, though containing magic, did not have any real control over the magic. He gave it a vague idea of what he wanted it to do, and sometimes it listened, and sometimes it decided it didn't want to do that and _changed_.

This was what had happened when Draco turned Severus into a Beast.

That part had worked all right. Draco had meant for Severus to turn into something ugly—well, uglier than he had been—and Severus _had_ become uglier. But..well, Draco hadn't really meant for him to become a Beast. After all, Beasts were tall—though Severus had been quite tall when a man, too—muscular—this was an improvement over his man-body—and hairy. And Draco hadn't really wanted Severus to become a Beast. Draco had been hoping that Severus would stay human. This was because, in the odd way that nature works, Draco fancied Severus. Or at least he had, when Severus was still a man. But back to Severus. It was the last—the hair—which bothered Severus the most.

Though not, perhaps, as much as it could have. Because, as a man, Severus had had greasy, lank hair, but as a Beast…Somewhere the magic had twisted a bit, and Severus' Beast coat was full and rich, with lots of purple and blue highlights within its black depths.

Still, no one liked a Beast, much less a _hairy_ Beast. Even if it was the most beautiful hair in the seven kingdoms.

And as for the castle…

Some of Draco's magic had decided that it didn't want to become part of a Beast, thank you very much, and so it ran away from the rest of the magic and set itself up in the castle. This had resulted in a very…_different_ kind of castle.

It now lived, in all the ways a pile of stone and mortar can live. Which, granted, are not a lot.

It did not, for instance, skip about the forest asking trees for a piece of salt-water taffy. However, it now sensed things, and informed Severus of them, via the portraits.

That was another thing which had warped through the magic.

Things which had not formerly been portraits now were.

Things like Dumbledore and McGonagall.

Somehow they had been put into portraits, though they could still think and talk and, annoyingly, follow Severus around the castle through the other paintings.

After the first time they had interrupted him while he was in the bath, Severus had ripped all the paintings off of the walls of his bedroom and bathroom, so they couldn't follow him _everywhere_, but it was near enough to set Severus' teeth on edge.

And everything seemed to be self-repairing, too. His claws never did any permanent damage to the tapestries; within the next ten minutes, everything would be as clean and unripped-to-shreds as it had been. This annoyed Severus. He liked things to stay destroyed.

But I digress.

Severus was pacing about the castle, ripping things to shreds, and then coming back and scowling at them as they repaired themselves, when a portrait down the hall started screeching at him.

Severus did not like to be screeched at. Besides being a prince, which will kick out any tolerance of screeched-at-ness one might posses, Severus was just the kind of person that liked to do the screeching.

So he took his sweet time getting to the portrait.

He could walk quite slowly when he wanted to.

By the time he reached the portrait—one in blindingly bright colors depicting, surprisingly, Death—the portraitee, otherwise known as Death, was hopping about in an agitated manner.

The young girl—the artist had, apparently, had a different look on life—was swathed in a neon lime robe and carrying a hot pink scythe, which would give out strobes of light at unpredictable times.

Severus _hated_ that painting.

"Hey, hey, hey! Took you bloody long enough! I've been yelling at you for the past ten minutes!" screeched the screecher.

"_What_ do you want?" he asked in his third-most formidable voice.

Death was not impressed. "Listen here, young man, I've been reaping before your great-great-great-grandmother was a twinkle in her mother's eye, so don't you get all uppity towards me! I can take away your life sooner than you can blink, so don't take that tone with me!"

Severus scowled. "Fine. Accept my apologies. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"That's more like it. Outside the gates, there's a boy in need—"

"A moronic villager has run away from home and you expect me to protect him from a few squirrels? I think not—"

"Don't you interrupt _me_! You think I'm gonna worry you about some stupid little problems? Not just any boy. This one was actually doing pretty well on his own, and we wouldn't have interfered, but…He's not alone out there."

"I told you I'm not helping against a few squirrels."

"Not squirrels, you little man-whore! Noctis Lemures!"

Severus jerked his head towards the painting. "_Noctis Lemures_? What are they doing out?"

"I _told_ you he's not just any boy. He is special. You'd best get out there to help him. He doesn't have much time left."

But Severus was already gone.

As he could be agonizingly slow when he wanted to be, Severus could also be _fast_ when the mood struck him. And this time the mood had taken out a baton and beaten him.

Severus was to the front door in seconds. Which was quite an accomplishment if you knew how very big the castle was.

He flew out the doors and began to run towards the gates—this is to say that before this, he was _walking_, which means that Severus had quite a big stride—before even thinking about what to do about the Noctis Lemures.

He was at the gates in minutes, and arrived just in time to see a man—really, Death had called him a _boy_, which had made Severus think that it would be a child, but then, he supposed that _everyone_ would be a child to Death—take a spectacular nose-dive into the dirt. In the brief moment after, everything was quiet, and Severus thought all would be well; that Death had been exaggerating.

But then he saw them swoop over the man, their ghostly fingers grazing his skin.

Severus had to act. Now.

The Noctis Lemures still weren't properly _here_, but they were becoming more and more real as the seconds ticked by, and as soon as they were here, nothing could save the man.

Severus leaped through the gates and kicked out at the Noctis Lemures, shuddering as his foot went _through_-_but-not-quite­_ them.

He summoned his own little bit of magic (1) and forced it into a ball. Then he sent it out, far away, into the forest.

The Noctis Lemures stopped their advance towards the boy and cocked their almost-heads, like dogs, as though smelling something. Then, as one, they bounded off after Severus's magic.

Severus sagged a bit—throwing magic was tiring—but he couldn't take a break. They wouldn't be fooled for long, and he needed to get the man inside the castle before they came back.

Quickly, he grabbed the man and pulled him into his arms before rushing back through the gates.

They slammed behind him—even the castle wanted to keep out the Noctis Lemures—and Severus ran back to the safety of the stones.

Just as he got inside—the doors slamming so hard, he swore the wood was breaking—he heard the awful screech of the Noctis Lemures, something between the wail of a wounded child and the howl of a wolf.

Severus let out a single silent sigh of relief and slid to the ground, forgetting about the man in his arms until it let out a shriek.

* * *

**A/N:** Comments, questions, concerns? Lookit that, I'm a teacher. /cough/

(1) Yes, the 'Severus has magic' part. Well, he's been locked up in a castle for a few years now, with nothing to do, and only crazy portraits of Death and such to talk to. He had to do _something_, didn't he? So, he figured out how to access a bit of his magic. Which all of us have if we look deep inside us, blah blah.

I'm too tired and effed up from allergies to deal with this crap. I'm going to bed to dream about vampire Snape, hopefully. Yes, I'm weird.

By the way, I've lost a fic. ;-; One where Snape is a vampire, which Harry discovers during an Occlumency lesson. And then Snape goes all vampirey and bites him. And it ends up with Harry giving Snape his blood. A something Compromise. It's called something like that. If any of you have read it, could you give me the author, or title? I would love you forever. Because there is a sad lack of vampire Snape fics out there. /runs off to sleep/


	7. Chapter VI

**Disclaimer: **Ach, I own nuthin'.

**A/N:** Holy shit, I'm on a writing craze! Actually, I'll be gone next week (The week of the 4th of July) I'll be in New York! So I thought I should write a lot for you guys. :D 'Cause I love you so much. And I know it's been a long time. I just couldn't think of anything.

Hm, okay, someone (I forget who; sorry) asked what happened to Snape's parents. Okay, I kind of touch on that. Yay. I forget if they asked anything else. Er...sorry...

Also, I just wrote this all. At once. In an hour or so. It's not proof-read or anything, so try to skip mistakes.

And Wyatt is not supposed to be Scottish. Because I can't do one of those accents and I'd end up butchering it. So he just has some crazy accent. Mkay?

...That thing where Voldie is the king and Lucius is a lord is so effed up...Stupid prolouge...

* * *

They sat at opposite sides of the table, staring at each other. It was not, oddly enough, a large table. One would, of course, expect that the table of a prince—and in a castle, no less—to be quite large; after all, most princes would be throwing balls every other day and having important meetings and whatnot. And these things require lots of table space.

However, as we all know (and, if you don't know this by now, you should probably leave), Severus was not a normal prince. And not just because of the lovely fur coat. No, he had always been a bit…odd, and after the former King and Queen had died, Lord—or, actually, King, now—Voldemort had, with his charms and good looks, taken over the kingdom quite easily.

So Severus had no need for a really whopping table—and, honestly, he would have been a bit put off if he'd had to entertain dukes and viscounts all the time.

Because of all…this…the two were actually quite close to each other. Close enough that they could make polite conversation without yelling across the room and disturbing the poor portrait of Dumbledore, who was dozing near a vase of violets.

They didn't, though. Make polite conversation, that is. Instead, they stared.

There was a lovely meal set out in front of them—the House Elves, after years of making a plain soup for Severus' dinner, were delighted and near drunk at the thought that now there was someone to cook for (they did not count Severus' sparse requests as actual cooking), someone who might actually enjoy a bit of steak every now and then—but, after a brief bout of tearing in to everything in sight, Harry had just picked at his food. And Severus ate like some sort of giant, menacing, bird.

Harry was staring at Severus. He was frightening, yes, but he'd also been much kinder to Harry than…well, _anyone_ ever had been, and they'd only known each other for a few hours. Also, he smelled nice. Not fat and sweaty like his uncle and cousin, and not dusty, like his aunt. There wasn't a cloying cloud of perfume following him around, like Lucius, either. He had a comforting animal smell, like the scent you got when you buried your nose in a clean dog's fur. Nice. Green, too; like trees, or fresh water.

And the house itself. Of course, he'd only been in two rooms—the foyer and the dining room—but it was a warm place, huge but rambling. The stone floors had thick carpets and the walls had tapestries and paintings. Talking paintings. Somehow, this didn't bother Harry as much as it should have. It seemed right, somehow. And they were so kind, too. The Beast—Severus, he'd said his name was—was kind, also. Not in a coddling sort of way, just…silent, with no grabby hands or foul language. All in all, it seemed to be a nice place. Harry wondered if he'd be allowed to stay.

Severus was staring at Harry. He was still here. Most travelers (there had, over the years, been a few who'd gotten lost in the woods and found themselves in front of the castle), after setting eyes on him, had run screaming like mad. This man, though…after an initial shriek, had calmed down enough for Severus to explain that he wouldn't hurt him. Brave, but foolish. What had he been doing wandering through the woods anyways? He'd have to find out…And soon. Who knew who might come looking for him. Harry was pretty and rather delicate-looking, and though he'd been wearing old clothes, his hair was clean looked regularly washed, and only privileged (or magical) sort of people could afford to do such a thing. Severus did not fancy either a richman or a magicman crashing through his forest, bungling up his trees and either (in the case of the richman) killing himself, or (in the case of the magicman) possibly killing Severus.

It did not cross his mind that the man coming after Harry could be both rich, and have a magicman with him, which was the case.

But Harry seemed to have magic (quite a bit, in fact; the Noctis Lemures were only attracted to rather large amounts of magic), and Severus did not believe in coincidences. The man had been brought to him for a reason, and he believed that reason was magic. Severus himself could perform (rather small) acts of magic and had (rather a lot) of magic books. He would teach the man, and, if someone came looking for him, he would deal with that, too.

So they sat, and they stared, each caught up in his own thoughts, and neither quite brave enough to start a conversation with the other.

_

* * *

Miles away, just as Severus and Harry had decided to stop sitting at the table and go to bed (Severus showed Harry to a room just down the hall from his own; one with a large, comfy bed, a desk and chair, a stripped settee, and a empty bookshelf), Lucius Malfoy was waking up._

"Ah," he sighed, stretching languorously and slipping out of the bed in a manner meant to be provocative, "What a lovely morning! The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and" he added with a small, dangerous smirk, "today is the day Harry Potter finally becomes _mine_."

Pulling on a ice-blue dressing gown, he waved away the servant who set down his breakfast and sat on a chair facing the window, sipping tea and imagining the conquest ahead.

You can only imagine his surprise when, an hour later, he opened the door to Harry's rooms and found it empty.

_

* * *

Furious, raging about the rooms like a wild tiger, Lucius tore apart pillows, dashed ornamental statues to the ground, and broke a window._

"_Where _is _he_?" he bellowed to a frightened maid and a trembling butler. "_He was here last night, so _where_ has he _gone? _How did he get out_? _We must find him_! Where? How—"

Suddenly, he fell silent and began to pace.

The butler and maid looked at each other nervously. When Lord Lucius was angry, he usually killed someone. And they were nearest. Fortunately for them, they had nothing to worry about.

"_Ahhhh_," he let out his breath in a hiss. "I have it. The dogs. Carbuncle!" he yelled. The butler snapped to attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"Go and tell Wyatt to let out the dogs! And—Wait!" this last said as Carbuncle started for the door. "Fool! You must take something with you, otherwise the dogs will have nothing to scent! Here—take this sock. Now move, man!"

Carbuncle moved.

_

* * *

Wyatt, a tall, brawny, good-looking man with dark blonde hair, was a bit confused by the request—the household was not yet aware that the master's boy-toy had gone missing—but did as told._

Dangling the bit of cloth in front of the dogs, he patted the leader on the head once and then let them loose.

They bolted like rabbits with a fox on their tail.

A bit more sedately, Wyatt—finally caught up on the escape of Harry thanks to Carbuncle—and Lucius followed on horses.

The dogs ran heavily until they reached the edge of the forest. As I've said, no one liked the forest. And I _mean_ no one. Animals included.

Cursing, Lucius first whipped the dogs, then Wyatt. "What is wrong with them? Why'd they take us _here_?" he demanded.

Cringing—but only a bit; Lucius would beat him more if he showed weakness—Wyatt shook his head. "I dunnae, my lord. P'rhaps the boy went inta the forest. Thoo' no sane man woold. Why, nyther will th' dogs, ya see?"

Lucius let out a scream of frustration. "Then how the _hell_ am I supposed to track him now?"

It had been a rhetorical question, but Wyatt answered it anyways. "P'rhaps yor son could cast some sort o' spell, milord?"

Jerking back automatically to whip the man for speaking without being spoken too, he stopped abruptly. "Why…that's actually a good idea. Man! Take those damn dogs of yours back to their kennel!"

After Wyatt had pulled the dogs away from their cowering and leading both them and his horse back to the castle, Lucius murmured, "He'll be back in a week."

One week.

* * *

**A/N:** Ho ho ho. Carbuncle. What an awesome name for a butler, neh?

I want a livejournal. But I don't know if I'm allowed one.../mutter/


End file.
